


Closer I am to Fine

by siriuslyuptonogood



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Play, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Daddy!Steve, Fisting, M/M, Memory Loss, Non-Sexual Age Play, Spanking, Top Steve Rogers, baby!Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22949320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslyuptonogood/pseuds/siriuslyuptonogood
Summary: Steve is, and always will be, Bucky’s home.It all started with a little brown bear with a blue bow, won at a Coney Island by Steve for Bucky. It opened something up inside of Bucky. It brought them together, served as comfort, as a friend, and eventually a way back home to Steve.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 308





	Closer I am to Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the Indigo Girls song “Closer to a Fine.”

Steve Rogers was, and always would, Bucky Barnes' home. Even before they actually shared an apartment. Because Steve understood him. Was his solace.

For Steve's eighteenth birthday, they went to Coney Island. Just the two of them.

"Buck," Steve said, slinging an arm best he could around his best friend. "I'm gonna win ya a bear."

Bucky laughed softly. "It's your birthday, punk."

"Yep, and I wanna win you a bear."

And he did. It took him four tries to knock the bottles down, but he did it. And he picked up this little brown teddy bear with a blue bow. Bucky couldn't help but take it like it was the most precious thing in the world. It made him ache inside and he didn't know why. He clutched it the rest of the night.

The bear slept on Bucky's bed. In winter, they pushed their beds together to stay warm and the bear stayed. Sometimes Bucky woke up holding it. One morning, when Steve was making the bed, he accidentally knocked the bear off and at some point, it got kicked underneath.

Bucky had gone to get in bed that night, exhausted and had reached for the bear only to not find it. He sat up in the dark.

"Stevie?"

"Tryin to sleep here, Buck," came the muffled reply.

"You seen my bear?"

Pause. "Bear?"

"Yeah, uh, the one you won me on your birthday. Can't find it." Bucky said and he couldn't believe he was almost crying over this bear. He was so pathetic. "Nevermind. Sorry. Don't matter much."

He curled up on his side, pulled the blanket up over his shoulder and tried to sleep.

Steve groaned, the bed springs creaked and so did the floor when feet landed on it.

Bucky blinked when the lights came on.

"Stevie, you don't gotta-"

"Hush now, Bucky," Steve said waving a hand at him, still half asleep.

Bucky watched with wide eyes as Steve got down on the ground to get under the bed.

"Aha." Steve came back out, bear in hand. "Must have fallen down when I made the bed this mornin. He's alright. Just a little dusty." He brushed the dust off. "Sorry, little fella."

He tucked the bear under the blanket right next to Bucky who didn't move until the light was off and Steve was climbing back in bed. Bucky clutched the bear tight against him and curled up on his side, facing Steve.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Steve reached out and clumsily patted his cheek. "Don't mention it, sugar."

The endearment made Bucky go hot all over. He knew Steve wouldn't have called him that if he hadn't been half asleep. But Bucky still loved it.

A few days later, a Saturday, they were making the bed together and Steve plucked the bear up, tucking it into his suspenders so he wouldn't get lost again.

"This little fella of yours got a name?" he asked when he placed the bear back onto the made bed.

Bucky felt his face get hot. "Oh, uh, no."

"Hm," Steve said, "sweet little fella such as him deserves a name. We'll figure something out."

Spring came and they didn't immediately move their beds back apart. Didn't talk about it much, Steve just shrugged and said "we'll get to it," whenever Bucky brought it up.

Bucky had to come home sick from work one day. He was having the worst stomach pains, doubling over, and the boss sent him home. Bucky was so mad at himself, missing half a day of work. But he was glad to be home where he could curl up on his bed. He wrapped an arm around his bear, clutching him to his chest. He fell asleep.

That's where Steve found him when he got home from his shift at the grocery store.

"Oh, Buck, you're burnin up," he said, putting a hand to his cheek. He got a cool, damp cloth to press to his forehead.

The stomach bug laid him out for three days straight. Steve had gone down to talk to his boss, so he wasn't gonna lose his job, but he was losing almost a week of pay and Steve was picking up extra shifts at the store. It wasn't good for Steve to push himself so much, but he wouldn't even entertain the idea of Bucky going to work.

"No, sir, you're going to stay right here in bed and rest," Steve said in a tone that Bucky hadn't ever heard before but that made him want to stay in bed. Made him want to please Steve.

"And look, you got this sweet little fella here to make you feel better." Steve picked up the bear, holding it close for Bucky to take. "He's a doctor, you know, says you need lots of sleep and cuddles. You be a good boy, listen to the doc now sugar."

"Yes, Daddy," Bucky murmured, pressing the bear's fur against his face. Later he would try to convince himself that he was saying it teasingly because Steve was acting like a father. But it really just slipped out as he was falling asleep.

He'd been mortified, didn't bring it up. Steve didn't either, thankfully. Though now Steve referred to the bear as either The Doc or Doc. And Bucky kinda liked it.

When Steve got in a fight, probably the worst in a while, Bucky pretended he was angry when he was really just scared. He was always scared when it came to Steve. He was gonna get himself killed one day.

After a quiet dinner, Steve went to bed early. Bucky tried to stay up, but he ended up getting in bed while Steve was still awake. He settled and brushed his fingers through the bear's fur before he picked him up, offering him to Steve.

"Doc's orders," he said softly.

Steve took him and held him to my chest. "You're good at taking care of me, sugar."

Bucky felt warm all the way to the tips of his toes.

"I'm just fine, please, baby," Steve said a few days later when Bucky was fussing about him going to work.

Bucky felt his face get hot.

"Bucky, I mean, Bucky," Steve said quickly.

Bucky bit his lip. He lifted one shouldn't and then dropped it. "Kinda like it," he whispered.

Steve smiled just a little.

Bucky had a nightmare about Steve. He watched him get punched over and over again until he was limp on the ground. And Bucky couldn't move, couldn't go to him. He woke up crying, "Daddy."

"Right here, baby, I'm right here," Steve murmured, holding him, rubbing the back of his neck, down his spine.

"It ain't right, Stevie," Bucky said a few days later, on the edge of hysteria as he paced back and forth the length of their apartment. Steve sat on the counter watching him.

"They'd also say the fact that I wanna kiss you ain't right, but I'm in disagreement there," Steve said and Bucky stopped.

"You wanna kiss me?" He asked, eyes wide.

"Course I do, sugar, c'mere."

Bucky found himself between Steve's thighs as Steve cupped his face and kissed him. They were the same height like this.

"If you wanna be called baby and call me Daddy, I don't figure it's much worse than all the other things I wanna do to you," Steve murmured.

"But... but I don't understand. I don't get why I want you to treat me like a little boy. Dunno why I wanna feel small," Bucky mumbled.

"You gave up a lot of your childhood to take care of your family, Buck. Maybe now they're okay you deserve to have some of it back," Steve murmured. "I'll be your Daddy, sugar. You just gotta say so."

Bucky looked at him for a long time then hugged him, burying his face against Steve's neck. Steve rubbed his fingers gently down his spine, forcing a soft sigh from Bucky's lips.

"That's it, baby, let Daddy take care of you."

"Yes, Daddy," Bucky murmured, eyes falling closed.

Bucky always said "Stevie" when Steve fucked him. Could damn near get his whole fist inside Bucky (could actually, as they learned later). Wouldn't use his dick though. Sometimes it didn't work the way he wanted it to or the stamina wasn't there, so he just used his fingers. Not that Bucky minded, rocking against the bed while Steve worked finger after finger inside him. Once in a while, when Bucky asked "real nice" Steve would let him suck his dick. Bucky loved the sounds he made when he did. Never minded when Steve came fast. Figured he was just doing his job.

Steve liked to touch him a lot. His favorite thing was the touch him right up until Bucky thought he was gonna come then back off. He did it over and over until Bucky was sobbing and begging, "please Stevie, please please. I'll be good, Stevie."

"Always good for me, sugar," Steve would reply.

Daddy was different. Didn't tease. He held him and kissed his forehead, his nose. He bought a book of fairytales from a used bookstore and would read to Bucky. And Bucky was a good boy. He'd curl up with Doc and Daddy and be content. Sometimes he got a little grumpy or whiny and gave Daddy attitude and Daddy would tap him on the nose. "You better behave, baby. You don't want a timeout, do you?"

He learned quickly that he did not. Because standing in the corner, not getting to look at Daddy or be held by Daddy or kissed by Daddy was kind of the worst thing in the whole world. He kinda preferred spanking. Because Daddy would usually just give him a pop or two on his bottom, though a few times he got the wooden spoon. . And sure it stung, but Daddy was there and held him and he didn't have to be apart from him. He hated, most in the whole world, to be apart from Daddy.

Getting drafted sucked. Not because he didn't want to serve his country. He did. He was proud to be a soldier like his father, but Steve wasn't healthy enough to be drafted. Getting drafted meant leaving Steve behind. That part sucked.

When Steve rescued Bucky, there were only a few things that Bucky was really aware of. One was that he could hear Steve's voice. Another was that he was being carried. And also that whoever was carrying him smelled like Steve. He'd never forget the way Steve smelled.

"Smell like Daddy," he mumbled, half out of it.

"Should hope so, sugar," said Daddy's voice and he could feel it rumble through the chest of whoever was carrying him.

Bucky let out a soft, delirious sounding giggle. "Daddy can't carry me, silly."

"Oh, baby, have I got a surprise for you," Daddy laughed. Everything went dark for a while after that.

Bucky stirred. He shifted. He realized he was on a cot from how fucking stiff he was. When he opened his eyes, he saw Steve laying on another cot, facing him, eyes open. Bucky just looked first. Was pretty sure he was on something or still asleep or something, but he frowned at Steve.

"M'I seeing things or did you have one hell of a growth spurt?"

Steve got pink across his nose. "Promise you won't get mad."

"Just asking me that means I'm gonna get mad," Bucky sighed, rubbing at his face. That was when he noticed Doc sitting on the edge of Steve's cot. He grabbed him, pulling him close and gently rubbing the soft fur against his cheek.

"They said I could serve my country," Steve said, "so I let em inject some stuff. Got all big and strong."

Bucky frowned. He reached out and flicked Steve in the forehead. "Idiot."

Steve laughed, reached out and started to tickle Bucky's side. "Now is that any way to talk to your brave Daddy who just saved your life?" He asked, voice low.

Bucky felt his face get hot and he shook his head. "Missed you, Daddy," he whispered.

"Missed you, baby."

While Bucky didn't like that Steve had let him himself be experimented on, because what the fuck, Steven, he was secretly glad that his Daddy could now pick him up. And that going up a set of stairs no longer winded him. That his asthma was gone and, for the first time in his life, he was healthy.

Also did not mind when, on leave in England, Stevie fucked him right into the plush hotel mattress with a big dick that could get hard again before he'd even pulled out. Bucky was pretty sure he was going to die. Make it very known to Steve that he was being killed. Would absolutely be fucked to death. Steve just laughed.

"Wonder if I could still get my fist in here," he'd said, almost conversationally, as he shoved a third finger past the rim of Bucky's hole.

Bucky, who was convinced he would split open just from that third finger, sobbed.

"Too big, Stevie, too big. Won't fit."

And Steve smiled and leaned down to bite his shoulder. "We'll see, sugar."

If they could have walked down the street holding hands, Bucky would have never wanted for anything else in the world.

They took Steve from him.

They took Bucky from him too.

They took everything from him.

Periodically, he'd get flashes of before, but mostly there was nothing. No before. No after.

Dark.

Cold.

Mission.

Cold.

Dark.

The man on the bridge opened something up inside of him. He got flashes of a life he didn't remember. Of lying face to face with the man, so close their noses touched.

"Never leave me, Daddy," he whispered.

"Couldn't ever, baby," replied the man.

But then they took that away again, left him with nothing.

He failed. Target lived. Asset captured, strapped into a chair. Something across his chest kept him in place. He could feel something cutting into wrist, keeping him in place. And his left arm. Gone. He remembered that. Blown off by a man in a metal suit.

He couldn't even rock the chair side to side.

Outside the dimly lit room, shouting.

"Fuck off, Stark. I'm not giving up on him. I can't." There was a reply, but it was too low for him to hear. The shouting moved further from the room and the door opened to allow entrance to a woman with vibrant red hair and a black tactical suit.

"Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes," she said and he didn't know what that meant, so he just looked at her.

"That's you," she said.

"No," he said.

"It is."

"No." And no matter how many different way she tried to convince him that he was Barnes, he always replied the same.

Asset. But he didn't say that. She didn't need to know who he was, just who he wasn't.

She left at some point and he was left alone for a while.

A man came in. He didn't look very impressive. His hair was curly. Looked too soft to be a threat. The asset was confident that he could take him out had he not been restrained.

The man injected something into his neck and everything went fuzzy, then black.

When the asset woke again, he didn't open his eyes at first and thought he was back with his handlers. He was leaned back, restrained. This was how it always went. They would fix his arm.

But his head was free. He could turn it side to side. When he opened his eyes, there was a small bear. Brown. Blue ribbon. Thing looked like it'd seen better days. Clean, but worn. The ribbon faded. The asset wanted to hold it. He wanted to rub it against his cheek. Protect the small stuffed bear. He had no idea why.

He assessed his surroundings. Like a hospital room but not. Not unlike where he ended up after missions. But still different.

A man entered some time later and the asset watched him walk in and sit down. He was big. Blonde, had a beard and blue eyes. The man would pose a problem. There was a chance that this man could withstand him. He did not like his odds. Or the way the man stared at him. He frowned

"Hey, sugar," the man said.

"I don't know you," replied the asset. But it wasn't quite true because something about his face seemed so familiar. And his voice. He brought a scent in with him as well. Soil, gun powder, a little sweat, but something else underneath that he felt like he'd smelled before.

"I know." The man looked so sad. He sat in there for a while and then stood.

The asset let out a soft sound when the man wrapped a hand around the small, brown bear, a desperate, wounded sound and the man froze.

"I like it," he said.

The man set it back down. He nodded. He left. The asset watched, then turned his attention to the bear. He stared unblinking for a while, then closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes, there was another man. This one much smaller (the asset could take this one). He was doing something to the asset's shoulder.

He didn't know what to say, so he said, "that's mine."

The man startled and jumped back a little. His chest glowed, which fascinated the asset. He looked unhappy. Angry. At who, wondered the asset, watching him practically vibrate with unhappiness.

"Jesus," said the man, "warn a guy, will you."

The asset looked away. He looked at the bear. He could bend his right elbow, lift his forearm from the bed.

"I want that," he said, pointing to the bear.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure." The man handed it to him.

The asset squeezed it gently, lifted it to his face. The fur was soft still, just a little ragged. It smelled like the man who called him sugar. He liked that smell.

"Cap's been carrying that thing around for days," said the man. "Ever since we brought you here."

"Doc," the asset replied.

"Huh?"

"His name. Doc. He isn't a thing." He held the bear against his chest.

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

The asset pressed his nose against the bear while the strange small man fiddled with what used to be an arm.

The man who called him sugar returned some time after the small one left.

The asset held the bear closer to him. He did not trust the man.

"I'm not gonna take him away from you, sugar," the man said, holding his hands up. He called the bear him, unlike the small man who called him a thing. The asset relaxed.

"Doc," he said and the man looked at him for a long time, then nodded.

"He's been missing you. Needed you to protect him."

The asset looked down into the face of the bear. Yeah, that checked out. He was such a small bear. Didn’t even have any claws to protect him.

"I missed him," he replied and while he knew it was a lie, he'd never seen the bear before this room, it felt like the truth.

The man came close. He pushed strands of hair from the asset's face and it felt familiar.

"I'm missing my arm," he said.

"Yeah. You'll have the wait for a new one, I'm afraid. You could kill a lot of people."

"Probably not you. And perhaps also not the woman with red hair. But the other two, yes." The asset had calculated all those things, but he wasn't sure why he was telling the man. "The small one who tinkered wouldn't require the metal arm."

The man made a sound that was almost a laugh. The asset felt warmth in his chest as if he'd pleased this man. That bode well for him if this man was to become his handler.

"The small one who tinkered is the reason you don't have an arm," the man said.

The asset frowned. "I would have to be sure he did not have the metal suit."

The man swept a thumb across the asset's forehead. "Perhaps we table this conversation. You should sleep."

Something beeped behind him and the world slowly went dark again.

When he woke up again, he was not restrained but on a bed. He cannot remember the last time he slept on a bed.

He flexed his fingers, feeling odd, a little empty, when he realized he fell asleep with his bear.

The bear. Not his.

He sat up, panic scratching at his lungs, eyes wide but seeing nothing.

"Hey, hey." The man. "Calm down. You're okay."

"Bear," breathed the asset. He needed the bear. Was supposed to protect the bear.

The lights came up slowly, but still hurt his eyes. The man, blurry at first, stood in front of him, holding out the bear.

"Poor little fella just fell off the bed while you were asleep."

The asset took the bear and scrambled back against the wall. He had failed again. Failed to protect the bear. Something could have happened to him while the asset was asleep. And then the bear would be gone. That felt bad. And the man, the one who could be his handler, had said that the bear needed the asset to protect him.

The man let him sleep on a bed. Hadn't hurt him once. But the asset failed him. Would the man send him back? They'd put him back in the chair. They'd make it cold again.

"Do you know who you are?" The man sat in an armchair facing the bed.

"Asset."

The man nodded, rubbing his face. The asset felt the urge to tell him that the beard looked nice, had been a good choice, as if he knew the unbearded version of this man as well. He doesn't.

"You're Bucky Barnes," said the man after a few minutes. "I'm Steve Rogers."

Steve. Steve. The asset rolled it around it his mouth. Stevie, supplied his brain, but that wasn't what the man had said. Stevie.

"I'm the asset," he said after a few minutes, "I don't know Bucky Barnes."

"Because they took that from you," the man--Steve--said, angry. "They took me away from you. They took you away from you."

The asset pressed back against the wall, unsure if he made Steve angry, if the rage was to be directed at him. He clutched the bear against his chest, keeping him safe.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. Buck, I'm so sorry," Steve dropped his head in his hands. He sounded like he was crying, or close to it. The show of emotional weakness made the asset uncomfortable, and he didn't know what to do, so he slid to the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and thrust the bear out.

"Doc is better equipped to handle crying than I am," he said.

Steve looked up, eyes red, but otherwise dry. He reached out, brushed the asset's hand with his own and gently rubbed one ear between two fingers.

"He enjoys that," the asset supplied.

Steve nodded. After a few minutes, he got up and left and eventually the asset fell back asleep, body curved toward the wall, keeping the bear safe and away from the edge of the bed.

He dreamt of the man on the bridge. When he woke, he realized that was Steve.

Steve visited the asset frequently, encouraged him to move around and explore the space. No windows. No obvious doors. The wall just opened to allow Steve entrance. There was a couch and a screen built into the wall. A bathroom. A shower. A small table with two chairs. The asset hadn't seen any of the others since his move to the room. Steve brought him food but the asset only ate small amounts of it. It made his body hurt. He couldn't remember eating before.

The nightmares came eventually. He woke up screaming at night, feeling like he should be drenched in blood. Sometime Steve was there when he woke up. He would pet the asset's hair. Call him sugar. Tell him he'd be alright.

Once when Steve brought food, he only brought mashed potatoes because the time before, the asset had only eaten the mashed potatoes and said he liked them. The asset wanted desperately to be in Steve's arms. He wanted to know how it would feel for him to scoop him up and swing him around like a child. Steve looked strong. Like he could do it easily.

He dreamt that he was punching Steve. Over and over again. Metal against skin. He just kept hitting him in the face and Steve just took it. He said, "I love you, Buck," over and over, just like the punches.

He woke up, face wet with tears, and felt sharp pain in the arm that wasn't there.

The asset wouldn't look at Steve for two days.

He had a dream that he was in Steve's arms, being rocked gently.

"Feel gross, Daddy," he said, gripping tight to Steve's shirt. Steve was small, but he still made him feel safe.

"I know, baby. But the doctor said your fever will pass soon. You have Doc, right? He's very important for the healing process."

He pressed the bear to his face.

Later, he dreamt himself again in Steve's arms, but this time when he looked down he was wearing a military uniform.

"I'm going to miss you, baby," Steve said, voice muffled. He wrapped his arms around Steve's neck.

"This is worse than any timeout ever," he mumbled and Steve let out a soft laugh. "Hate not being with you, Daddy."

"Me too, sugar, me too," Steve said, kissing his forehead.

The asset almost preferred the nightmares to the dreams about Steve. The dreams made him want something he couldn't have.

He woke up one morning to the sound of the door opening. The lights came up. Steve, but also the small man and the one with the curly hair. The small man looked angry. The asset decided that was his natural state. Perhaps for being smaller than the others. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, far away from the asset.

"I don't trust him free," the small man said.

"Tony, I wouldn't let you get hurt," Steve said, glaring.

"The big guy would probably let you get roughed up a little," added the man with curls.

"Bruce," Steve said and his voice had this quality that made the asset's stomach drop and want to be good. He moved so he was sitting a little straighter on the bed. 

"Kidding." Curls put his hands up.

The small man muttered something, but the asset couldn't hear it.

"Bucky," said Steve, because that's what he called the asset. And the asset had learned to answer to it. "We need to sedate you and take you to the lab."

The asset's eyes widened and he scrambled back, pressing himself to the wall. "Please, please. No, please. Don't send me back. I'll be good I promise. I don't want to forget again." 

Steve was there in a second, knee on the bed, gripping gently at the asset's shoulders.

"I will never send you back. Will never take your memories from you, Buck. Bruce is going to see if there's a way to give you memories back and Tony is going to look at your shoulder." And Steve's voice was so soothing and he'd never lied to the asset, so the asset relaxed. "I'm going to carry you to the lab and then back to this room."

"Carry," the asset repeated.

"Yep. That okay?"

He nodded.

"Can Bruce give you the sedative?" Steve asked.

"Will I remember being carried?"

Steve paused for just a second and then he smiled. "You will. I promise."

"Okay." 

And he didn't fall asleep until he was in the lab. When he woke you again, he was being carried back to the room. He was put into the bed, the blankets pulled up over him, Doc tucked against his chest.

"Rest now, sugar. I'll be back later with something to eat," Steve said.

And the asset wanted to do anything Steve asked, so he drifted back to sleep.

He'd been with Steve for months by the time he started to join the others around the tower. He hadn't even known he was in a tower until that first day he was allowed out on his own, no drugs.

He still didn't have an arm. Which was, perhaps, for the safety of others, but he wouldn't hurt them now. Steve said they were safe. And Steve seemed to make the rules. He also cooked and the longer the asset stayed, the more he could eat.

On a Sunday, they were discussing something, battle tactics, maybe. The asset was busy eating his lasagna layer by layer and that wasn't his mission, so he wasn't paying attention.

But then Natasha (the redhead), who seemed angry said, "Steve, you jumped off a building into what you knew was a trap--"

Oh. And that made Bucky mad. He slammed his fork down. "Steve did what?"

Everyone looked at him.

Steve stood, putting his hands up. "Bucky--"

"No, no, no, Steve. Please tell me about this dumbass thing you did."

"I knew what I was doing," Steve said, looking unsure.

"You did get stabbed in the thigh," Clint supplied and Steve glared at him quickly before looking back at Bucky.

"Almost a hundred years old and still doing punk ass shit," Bucky said, getting up. He picked up his plate, walked over, flicked Steve on the forehead and went to put his plate in the sink. Everyone watched him, silent as he left the room

Halfway down the hall, he stopped. He cursed. He heard footsteps and then Steve was wrapped around him, face pressed to his neck.

"Bucky," he whispered. "Bucky. Bucky."

Bucky turned and cupped Steve's face. "I... don't understand a lot of what's going on in my head. I remember all of the last few months. And some other things, but I also know that you're an idiot and you make dumb decisions. And that I love you. I don't know if I can say that in an hour."

"I'll take just right now, sugar," Steve replied.

"I like the beard," Bucky said. Then Steve kissed him.

When the asset woke up later between Steve and the wall, he couldn't quite remember how he had gotten there. Almost. It was fuzzy.

Steve stirred, rolled over, looked at him.

The asset pressed back against the wall and Steve got up. "Do you want to move to another room?" he asked.

"With windows?" the asset asked.

Steve nodded.

"Yes."

He was moved into what was Steve's area. His room was two doors down. He had a view of the whole city, found he slept easier knowing it was right there.

On some days he was the asset, others Bucky and even when he was Bucky, there were still gaps. He remembered more of back in Brooklyn than of the war. He couldn't remember the day he fell. Couldn't remember anything that happened after.

The asset always had the bear. Bucky left him on his bed.

In December, though he wasn't sure why that mattered. He hadn't known any other month, well except November but that was because Steve cooked a huge Thanksgiving meal that they all had to leave in the middle of, leaving the asset alone at the table. He was pretty sure that was not how Thanksgiving was supposed to go and he didn't really know how to carve a turkey with only one arm, so he filled his plate with mashed potatoes and went back to his room. He made sure the bear could see the city lights and just looked out while he ate.

December, the tower was decorated for Christmas. Clint had done it as soon as they got back, three days after Thanksgiving.

Steve seemed to like Christmas a lot. He seemed to always be humming or singing. Bucky didn't surface a lot, but the asset enjoyed the lights. He liked that Natasha gave him a set of soft pajamas on Christmas Eve. They matched everyone else's pajamas.

He went to sleep in them that night.

Bucky woke up hours later, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He grabbed his bear, held him tight against him and left his room. He hadn't ever gone two doors down to where Steve's room was, but he needed to. Doc had to be tucked under his arm in order for him to turn the nob, but once he was in, Doc was again in his hand and he ran for the bed. He stopped right at the edge of the mattress.

"Daddy," Bucky whispered.

Steve groaned, rolling and throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Daddy," Bucky said, louder, close to tears. He needed Daddy to wake up.

"Sugar?"

"Daddy." Bucky felt so relieved and he crawled into bed. Daddy shifted to accommodate him, just like he'd always done, and Bucky was pressed against his chest. "Doc a bad dream. Scary"

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. Does he wanna talk about it.

Bucky sniffed. "He hurt a lot of other bears, Daddy. Hit em with claws he didn't even know he had. There was blood. So. So. So much."

Daddy was quiet at first, then his hand wrapped around the back of Bucky's neck.

"Do you think kisses will help him feel better?" he asked.

"I think yeah," Bucky said, holding Doc up. He let out a watery giggle when Daddy kissed Doc's nose and forehead then did the same to Bucky. Daddy kisses made everything better. Always had.

"Daddy missed ya, sugar."

"Missed Daddy," Bucky whispered. "Been so scared."

"I'm sorry it took me so long to find you, but I ain't never letting you go again, baby."

"Even if I wake up and I'm him?" And Bucky's voice was so small that Daddy cupped his face and stroked his thumbs across his cheeks.

"Even then. He's still you. Just a bit different. But I love all parts of you." Daddy said.

Bucky nodded. That made sense, he decided. He curled up closer to Daddy and fell asleep.

In the morning, he opened his eyes and watched Steve sleep. He reached out and gently stroked down his cheekbone.

"Merry Christmas, Stevie," he whispered and he watched the corners of Steve's mouth turn up before his eyes even opened. But there they were. Stevie's baby blues. All for Bucky.

"Merry Christmas, Bucky," Steve murmured, kissing him.

In the spring, Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in his own room. The asset didn't seem to come around much anymore. There were still holes in Bucky's brain, but Steve could fill in some of the gaps, was happy to.

Bucky still left the bear in bed most days, but when Steve looked up and saw him standing there, bear held tight to his chest, he would smile and pause what ever he was doing.

"Wanna help Daddy cook dinner, baby?" he'd say. Or "come on over and climb up into Daddy's lap, sugar." Sometimes, "baby, Daddy's gotta finish kicking Clint's sorry butt, if you pick a story and wait for me, I'll be right up."

Two years after his body first arrived at the tower, Bucky walked up behind Steve in the kitchen and wrapped himself around him, hooking his chin over one broad shoulder. He tucked the thumb of his shiny new arm into the pocket of Steve's jeans and slid his flesh hand under his t-shirt to rest on taut muscles. He hadn't been the asset in a long time. He was Bucky. He was Steve's baby, sometimes his brat. He was him through and through and that felt just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Hit me up on tumblr, siriuslyuptonogood.


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